


Silverware Drawer

by pringlesaremydivision



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Spooning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 11:24:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8100607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pringlesaremydivision/pseuds/pringlesaremydivision
Summary: One character, one person, split into two but intertwined to become one again anyway, at least on that couch, at least for a moment—what is that if not the two of them to a tee?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the Dirty 30 spooning talk in [GMMore 983](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H9VnuDXylnQ).

_“We stayed at least an hour after work every day for months.”_

It’s a joke, but not much of one. There hadn’t even been spooning in the original script, Mamrie writing it in only after Rhett had asked her to include Link as well (and it chafes Link a little when he thinks about it, not that Rhett got asked instead of him, but that anyone would actually think one of them would accept a role without the other). One character, one person, split into two but intertwined to become one again anyway, at least on that couch, at least for a moment—what is that if not the two of them to a tee?

“Quicker we can get this shot, the quicker I can stop cuddlin’ you,” Rhett says when they get the script, but his cheeks are pink and he won’t look at Link. “We should practice to make sure we know what we’re doin’, so we don’t waste their time.”

“Practice spooning? I think I know how to freakin’ spoon somebody, man,” Link scoffs, trying hard to ignore the warmth that’s spreading in his chest at the idea of being so close. They’ve shared tight spaces before, but there’s necessity and there’s—this.

“Getting spooned, you mean,” Rhett corrects with a wide grin. “You’re the little spoon, brother.”

Link sighs. Of course he is. “Fine, let’s just—after the crew goes home, alright? I don’t need Eddie or Stevie walkin’ in on that, we’d never hear the end of it.”

Rhett nods, and Link spends the remainder of the day twitchy and disconcerted, watching the clock without knowing if he wants time to slow down or speed up.

Five o'clock rolls around and everyone starts leaving, waves and nods from the crew as they make their way out to the parking lot. After Rhett shoos Casey out, telling her she doesn’t need to finish editing the episode until end of day tomorrow anyway, they’ve got the studio to themselves and Link feels his slow-simmering nerves return full force.

The couch in the studio is right out, barely even big enough for one of them to curl up on. That leaves the recliners, the hammocks, and the pull-out bed in the nap loft.

It’s a no-brainer.

The waning spring daylight makes its way through the high windows, casting a soft golden filter that makes Rhett’s hair and beard glow. Link watches him take off his shoes and wipe his hands on his jeans, and he doesn’t even realize he’s been staring until Rhett eases down onto the plaid cotton sheets and looks at him expectantly.

“Can’t spoon myself, buddyroll,” he says, but his voice is soft and there’s something in his eyes that makes Link go hot and cold all over. “Come on, there’s plenty of room.”

There isn’t, it’s a double bed, and that’s not the point anyway, but Link doesn’t bother correcting him, just slips his own shoes off and lines them up neatly at the edge of the bed, then grabs Rhett’s and lines them up too. As he straightens up, he hears Rhett chuckle.

“So proper.”

“Well, somebody’s gotta keep things lookin’ nice.” Link rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. He can’t stop smiling. His stomach is still in knots but his cheeks are starting to hurt because he _can’t stop smiling._ He knows he looks like a fool but Rhett doesn’t say anything, just smiles back and opens his arms wide.

Link pulls his glasses off and folds them up with shaky fingers, setting them on the end table with a clatter. Rhett’s blurry now, soft and glowing around the edges. He looks warm, and inviting, and if Link is being completely honest with himself, he’s so tired of fighting this.

He crawls into bed next to Rhett, the cheap springs squeaking as he situates himself, his back against Rhett’s front. Rhett drops an arm over his middle, and Link only realizes his shirt has ridden up when he feels Rhett’s bare skin pressed against his stomach. He swallows a gasp, reflexively tensing his abs, and Rhett laughs again, low and close, his warm breath washing over Link’s ear.

“Actin’ like I never touched you before,” he murmurs, and Link sighs. If Rhett’s gonna play this annoyingly cool, pretend like it’s not doing anything to him when Link can _feel_ Rhett’s heart racing against his back, then Link’s gonna play it the same way. He relaxes as much as he can, snuggling backwards until they’re lined up, shoulders to knees, then goes loose and sags back against Rhett.

It’s the horizontal version of a trust fall, and just like always, Rhett catches Link, pulling him tighter until there’s no room between them at all. It’s all done instinctively, in the space of a second, and when it’s over and they’re pressed together like lovers, Rhett’s the one who’s gasping.

“Actin’ like you never touched me before,” Link mocks, but it’s soft, without venom. It’s so quiet up here, alone, just the two of them and the last of the sunlight, falling across their bodies in stripes of orange and gold, and he doesn’t have it in him to pick a fight. He rubs his thumb idly against the back of Rhett’s hand, tracing the ridges and valleys of Rhett’s knuckles.

Rhett rotates his wrist, a silent offering that Link takes, tangling their fingers together. _And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss_ , comes 9th grade English class unbidden into Link’s mind, and he huffs out a laugh. He could worry about this. Maybe he should. But he’s drowsy and Rhett’s warm against his back, and it feels good. Everything feels good.

They don’t need to practice this. They’ve never needed to practice fitting together.

“Good thing Mamrie didn’t put in the script that we were forkin’,” Rhett whispers, and Link really hopes that the back of his head conveys how hard his eyes are rolling.

“Wake me in an hour,” he replies, and lets his eyes fall shut. He drifts off to sleep to the scratch of Rhett’s beard against the back of his neck, Rhett’s soft exhalations a lullaby pressed into his skin.


End file.
